The sound was small, but in the quiet room, it was distinct.

Marcus stopped.

His eyes went to my pocket, then rose to meet mine.

“You wouldn’t,” he whispered.

“I have spent six years watching you, Marcus,” I said.

“I watched how you built this house, and I watched how you kept your records.”

The progress bar reached eighty percent.

The destination folder was not a local drive; it was an encrypted cloud drop I had established weeks ago.

A drop that was hardwired to forward its contents to the desk of a federal prosecutor named Miller.

Sophia’s breath hitched.

She knew that once those files landed in federal hands, her leverage over Marcus was gone.

She would have nothing left to trade for her own protection.

“Elena, think about the baby,” Marcus said, his voice dropping to a softer, pleading register.

He was trying to appeal to the woman he thought he knew.

But that woman had died the moment I realized what he did to people who tried to leave.

“I am thinking about the baby,” I said.

“That is why we are leaving.”